Telling myself over and over to "get up!", to build higher and do more and be audacious. Yet here I stand. Waves crash around my feet and the shifting sands give me the illusion that the world is moving and changing and I can actually feel it turn on it's axis. But it is an illusion. Its a beautiful illusion; it keeps me planted here in this spot. The world is turning but I'm just standing still letting it continue forward, to keep going, to evolve in the way that I cannot.
I dream in vivid colour, in excruciating detail. The world in my head threatens to overwhelm the world occurring around me. I interact with the former more than the latter. I participate. I create. I live. And then I wake and I stand still and I watch. I write, but the words stay shut in the book and never see the light again.
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